Taking the Fence
by Centurion Tiberis
Summary: This is the story of Jonathan Niles, a solider in General Archer's Brigade, under Harry Heth, this is his story...
1. Chapter 1

Gettysburg: July 1st 1863 8:00 AM

Jonathan Niles looked out over the field, down the road and onto the ridge beyond. The Yankee militia was strung out along the fence. Waiting. They had a few cannons, and only a 'couple o' hundred men. _We can take em'_ thought Jonathan, fingering his rifle's stock.

General Heth had orders not to engage, but it was only a few militia. He called over one of his aides. The aide was a short man from South Carolina.

"Major, tell General Archer to attack, this won't take but a minute." Ordered General Heth.

The Major turned and galloped away. General Heth rode back along the column that was his division, all the way back to his artillery.

Jonathan was getting impatient, what was taking so long for General Heth to attack? _We could take em'_ he thought again. Just then the Artillery opened up and a courier rode up to General Archer, Jonathan was to far away to hear what was being said, but he knew that General Heth was going to send the Brigade in!

"_Battalion!"_ shouted theColonel.

The men echoed.

"ATTENTION!"

The Regiment snapped to attention.

_"Shoulder!" _

Once again the men echoed.

"ARMS!"

In a ripple of motion every man in the regiment set his rifle against his shoulder.

"_Forward!"_

The men echoed, they were ready to attack.

"MARCH!"

As one the Brigade stepped off. Down the road the Yankees were prepping their guns. Jonathan realized that they would have to form up in the open field, in range of the enemy guns. There was no room to do it here.

Jonathan's regiment was in the lead of the brigade, marching toward the enemy, A savage pleasure rose in his chest. They were finally attacking, and this could very well be the last battle in the war, in fact Jonathan was sure it was.

Soon the union artillery opened up, spewing shells and round shot at General Archer's brigade. The projectiles whistled over Jonathan's head, he still believed that this would be an easy fight.

A second volley from the union batteries mostly missed, whining away into the trees behind Jonathan, exploding far away, but one shell hit right in front of the first rank in the column.

The first rank had only just enough time to stare, horrified at the shell lying there, freezing in mid step, before it exploded. The men were ripped apart, throwing a shower of blood and horrifying chunks of man through the air.

Jonathan shied away from the blast, the smell of the burnt powder rolled over him, the scent of blood chocking him, but he still marched.

"_At the double quick!" _Shouted the mounted colonel, raising his sword.

"MARCH!" He yelled bring the sword down and spurring his horse. The Brigade began to double quick, almost but not quite running toward the enemy. The cannon fired again. Jonathan briefly saw a cruel black sphere before it roared down the line, the displaced air nearly spinning him around, a very near miss.

The colonel was not so lucky, a shell burst in front of his horse knocking it to the ground and sending him tumbling out of his saddle. He did not get up.

The men ran on, quickly climbing over the fence that lined the side of the road and forming a line in the field. The union militia, were not militia, that much Jonathan could instantly see from the uniforms, it was dismounted Calvary!

Jonathan was in the first rank, the line had not fully assembled yet when the union troops and the fence vanished in a wall of smoke and fire.

Jonathan felt a bullet fly not six inches from his face, saw the man next to him lose _his _face to a Minnie ball, as well as the back of his head, but Jonathan was untouched.

"Fire at will!" yelled an officer. Jonathan raised his rifle, aimed at the smoke ahead of him and fired. His view instantly dissolved into smoke and the rifle kicked his shoulder.

Jonathan heard the whiz of a bullet, then a wet thwack, then a blood-curdling scream, saw a dark shape fall, then some of the smoke lifted. Jonathan set his rifle's butt on the ground, and took a cartridge from his pouch, tore it and poured the powder into the muzzle, then placed the bullet in as well.

As he drew his rammer an artillery shell burst in the air near by, showing Jonathan with tiny hot fragments that tore at his face, leaving small scratches.

Jonathan kept loading, ramming the bullet home, most of the smoke was gone by the time he retuned the rammer to it's place, and Jonathan could aim clearly for his next shot.

Surveying the men in front of him, Jonathan selected his target, a young private, almost standing, hardly behind cover at all. By this time he had his new cap on the nipple of his musket.

Sighting as best he could Jonathan fired. The round blew up a cloud of sprinters as it struck near the youthful cavalryman's hand. The boy for the shooter, saw Jonathan standing fifty yards away. Then he raised his carbine and fired.

Jonathan heard the bullet strike, felt a wetness spread down his leg, he swore as he twisted his head to look. The bullet had torn his trouser's leg and the leg underneath was bleeding. But most of the wetness was from the hole in the bottom of his canteen, not the gash in his leg.

Jonathan was in pain, but he could handle it, he reached for another cartridge. As he reloaded the union Calvary fired another volley, and Jonathan saw several more men topple forward, blood staining the grass.

As Jonathan finished reloading he heard his Captain yell:

"_Company!"_

"CHARGE!"

Jonathan ran forward with his company. The Yankees fired another volley, striking the man on Jonathan's right. He collapsed in a bloody heap screaming.

The fence was only fifty feet away.

A cannon roared and canister shot clipped the flank of the company, killing the 1st Lieutenant and two other men.

The fence was only twenty feet away.

Jonathan stopped aimed at the youth that shot him, and fired. The ball struck the boy in the chest, he fell backward out of sight, blood spraying in a glistening fountain, staining the fence a deeper brown color.

Without brothering to re-load Jonathan leapt over the fence and swung his rifle at a Yankee corporal. The corporal ducked and struck Jonathan in the chest with his carbine, knocking Jonathan back.

Jonathan landed on the fence and collapsed it, feeling the blood of the young private seep into his uniform. The corporal was still coming. Jonathan staggered to his feet. This time he stabbed at the union soldier. The bayonet pierced the corporal's stomach. The stood stuck on the bayonet for a second then, with blood dribbling out of his mouth fell backwards arms limp, he struck his head on the dead privates carbine and did not move again.

Jonathan staggered backward horrified at the carnage he dealt, the men he killed. Looking around he saw only a few of his company still standing. A bugle blew, signaling a retreat.

Jonathan turned and ran from the fence. Bullets flew past him, but he barely noticed them. He mind was stuck seeing the corporal's last moments, again and again stabbing he, felling the blood on his face, again and again seeing the wound in his flesh, again and again hearing the god-awfully sound of his flesh tearing as he fell off the bayonet. Again and Again.


	2. Chapter 2

Gettysburg: July 1st 1863 8:30 AM

General Heth of The Confederate army of Northern Virginia was angry, his subordinate, General Archer had failed to take the town, even though it was only lightly defended by militia.

General Heth had only just spotted General Archer coming back to report. He better have a good excuse this time.

"Sir" said General Archer as he rode up saluting.

General Heth returned the salute, saying nothing.

"Sir, it was dismounted Calvary, Sir, the put up a really good fight, Sir"

"General Archer, how many of my men did you just waste?"

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"General Archer, how many men!"

" Well sir… um the figures are 32 men dead, and another 54 wounded"

"Reform your brigade, this time you _will_ take that fence!" ordered General Heth

"Yes sir!" General Archer rode away.

Jonathan's leg was starting to pain him badly. He tore a strip from his shirt and rapped it tightly around the gash in his leg. He had made that Yankee pay, once again he saw himself shoot that boy, saw him spin, saw the blood fountain through the air, watched the youth die.

After the charge ended the brigade fell back to the trees, now they had re-formed and were eager to attack again. Jonathan's company had been shattered in their solo charge. Now Jonathan had been assigned to the 8th Company, right in the middle of the regiment.

This time the man in charge of the regiment was the lieutenant-colonel, the colonel was lying in the road a few hundred yards down, next to his dead horse, equally dead. However when the orders came to attack the courier was the same. As were the orders, General Heth was a stubborn man.

_Battalion!"_ shouted thelieutenant-colonel.

"ATTENTION!"

The Regiment snapped to attention.

_"Shoulder!" _

"ARMS!"

Every man in the regiment set his rifle against his shoulder, this time with slightly less enthusiasm than last time.

"_Forward!"_

"MARCH!"

The regiment set off, down the road again, towards the enemy. This time both side's artillery opened up, shells flew at the Yankee fence, exploding in the air, sending cruel fragments into the union cavalry. But the Union guns were firing to.

As the brigade once again went down the road the first shells struck the column, killing several men, leaving bloodstains on the road.

In this assault the Brigade left the road earlier than last time, out of range of the union troops and their carbines. The line was formed without the chaos of musketry killing men as they got into position.

The Brigade, now in a battle line, set off again, only fifty yards until they were in range. A shell burst, killing three men down the line from Jonathan. The smell of burnt powder once again washed over Jonathan, stinging his nostrils.

Thirty yards to go.

A shell flew past over head, heading for the union lines. It exploded and took out a cannon, the gunners lying in various grotesque positions.

Ten yards to go.

Eight yards.

Five yards, Jonathan shifted his grip on his rifle.

They were in range, once again the union fence and lines dissolved into smoke and fire, a wall of lead soared at Jonathan. Men toppled, twisting, screaming, or just falling. Their life-blood soaking the dark Pennsylvania earth, alien ground, the invaders were dying.

"_Fire by File left!" _yelled the lieutenant-colonel.

The man all the way down at the left end of the line fired, then the man next to him, and all the way along the line, as the smoke crept closer Jonathan aimed for a officer standing behind his men, half crouched with his pistol in hand.

The fire crept closer, the union troops were loading.

The man next to Jonathan fired.

Jonathan fired. The Minnie ball went wide, Jonathan could see it strike the ground, then the smoke over took him, he began to reload, his eyes stinging.

As Jonathan drew his rammer the Yankees fired again, more men tumbled, striking the ground with cries of pain. Jonathan was again, untouched. The smoke drifted up as Jonathan finished reloading.

"_Fire by Rank!"_ ordered the lieutenant-colonel

_"Rear rank aim!" _

_"Rear rank FIRE!"_

The men behind Jonathan fired, and before the smoke briefly blocked his vision Jonathan saw several Yankees fall.

_"Rear rank load!" _the lieutenant-colonel

The men of the rear rank begin the process of loading as the lieutenant-colonel ordered:

_"Front rank aim!"_

Jonathan aimed for the same officer. The rest of the rank chose their targets.

_"Front rank FIRE!" _commanded the lieutenant-colonel

Jonathan pulled the trigger. This time the Minnie ball struck the man to the officer's right. He fell, clutching his arm, his carbine falling from his hands.

"_Fix Bayonets!" _Ordered the lieutenant-colonel.

Jonathan grabbed his bayonet, he had taken it off his rifle and cleaned of the gore since the last assault. When the men had finished attaching their bayonets the lieutenant-colonel ordered the charge:

_"CHARGE BAYONETS!"_

Jonathan set his rifle at a forty-five degree angle.

"CHARGE!"

Jonathan and the rest of the regiment ran forward, screaming the inhuman sound of the rebel yell.

Seventy yards to the fence.

The Union cannon fired canister rounds into the charging mass of men. Dozens fell, or came apart in showers of gore.

Fifty-five yards to go.

The Yankee cavalry fired a volley of musketry into the regiment. More men fell, landing in heaps, some maybe another five yard further than where they were hit.

Forty yards to go.

Twenty-five yards to go.

Ten yards.

Jonathan reached the fence, bayonet leveled. A private jumped up ahead of him, swinging his carbine, he missed by a mile. Jonathan hit him over the top of the head with the butt of his rifle. The Yankee collapsed, clutching his broken skull.

A second private ran at Jonathan, this one had a bayonet on his carbine. Jonathan knocked aside the carbine, then whacked the boy under the chin, he fell backward, landed hard groaning.

Suddenly a sharp pain blossomed in Jonathan's side. He fell away from the blow, his head slammed into something hard. A man slammed down close-by his arm smacking Jonathan's face.

Jonathan felt blood coming out of his nose. Another heavy weight hit Jonathan in the face. He blacked out.


	3. Chapter 3

Gettysburg: July 1st 1863 8:30 P.M

Dusk was falling over the field, several men were wandering amongst the prone figures, sometimes stopping and bending over figures, shaking them then moving on. Every now and then one of the shaken men would stagger to their feet and limp off into the gathering dark.

One of the searchers stepped over a body, one that had collapsed the section of fence where it landed. A prone figure stirred, the man was trapped under a body, with an arm across his face.

The searcher bent down.

"Hey, you alive there?" he asked, laying his hand on the man shoulder.

The man groaned.

"I'm alive." he said weakly.

"We'll get you to the hospital, you'll be okay."

The man groaned again.

The searcher stood and called:

"I found one!"

Several of the other searchers picked their way across the field, two had a stretcher.

The first searcher rolled the dead body off of the wounded man.

"What's your name soldier?" asked the searcher.

"Jonathan, Jonathan Niles…" he said weakly then moaned.

The other searchers brought the stretcher over the fence, one was holding a lamp, and he lit it. Jonathan stirred and raised his hand to cover his eyes. His nose was smashed, dried blood covered his face. The cloth around his leg was bloody, his side felt like hell, but there was no blood.

The gray-clad searchers gently lifted Jonathan onto the stretcher and began to carry him off the field. Jonathan lost consciousness again.

***

Near Gettysburg: July 1st 1863 10:30 P.M

Jonathan woke again, laying outside a tent, it was very dark now. His leg and side were killing him. He was very thirsty, he had been lying in the sun all the damn day. Jonathan turned his head, looked around. He was surrounded by men lying on stretchers. One large tent had a light in it. He tried to look closer but the flap was closed. The canvas was splattered with some dark liquid.

Jonathan passed out again.

***

Near Gettysburg: July 2nd 1863 7:30 A.M

A man knelt over Jonathan, holding a mug and a plate. Jonathan stirred.

"You hungry private?" asked the man.

Jonathan groaned, "yes…"

The man set down the plate and pressed the mug into Jonathan's hand, patted him on the shoulder and left.

Jonathan drank the water in one gulp, he had not drunk anything for twenty-four hours. Not since the first assault yesterday. He downed the food in only a few minutes, some hardtack and a small piece of bacon.

An hour later an orderly came over, changed the bandage on Jonathan's leg and left. Jonathan lay still for a while, tried to sleep, but the damn sun kept him from sleeping, that and the pain from his wounds.

The day wore on. Wounded men all around him, some died and began to smell in the hot sun. The pain in Jonathan's leg worsened as the day dragged on. By noon all he could do was keep from screaming.

At around two in the afternoon he couldn't even do that.

By three o'clock he was totally exhausted. He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while.

Close to four o'clock he fell into a fitful sleep. After another hour he saw the first wounded from today's fighting drift into the hospital. By evening, when the orderly came back with more food and water there were hundreds of men all around Jonathan. Most were moaning or screaming sporadically.

By six o'clock Jonathan was asleep. Around eight o'clock he woke for a while, screaming, before he exhaustedly fell unconscious.

***

Gettysburg: July 3rd 1863 6:00 A.M

Early in the morning Jonathan awoke again. He was surrounded by thousands of wounded men. The surgeons were performing amputations in front of everyone. A huge heap of limbs poked out from behind one of the tents.

Later in the morning a different orderly gave Jonathan some water. His leg felt like it was on fire. The bandage was bloody again. The orderly changed it.

Jonathan screamed for a while then passed out for several hours. When he woke up again the smell was horrifying. He heard artillery in the distance. He did not care. His leg was almost beyond feeling.

Jonathan fell into a blurry haze of fitful sleep, screaming and pain. Hours passed and the pain grew even worse. Jonathan was beyond exhausted, he could not move at all. He did not remember anything past the last five minutes, and even before that his memory was hazy.

Eventually someone loaded him into a wagon. After about an hour or two the wagon started rolling. Every bump was agony. Every time the wagon turned men rolled onto Jonathan's leg.

Every bump Jonathan screamed. He heard others say something, he could no longer understand speech, and he was delirious by the second hour in the wagon. Eventually he fell asleep. The next day the wagon rolled on. Jonathan stopped screaming, he could no longer make noise.

Several days passed, every few hours someone came to the back of the wagon and gave the wounded water. Eventually Jonathan was unloaded. He was fed and given water. Someone put him in a bed.

The next morning Jonathan Niles was dead.


End file.
